


I'm Nuts About You

by Kharons_End



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, One Shot, Other, Romantic Comedy, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27448483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kharons_End/pseuds/Kharons_End
Summary: Just you and your tough-to-decode datemate, Papyrus (Edge), baking a fruitcake in your kitchen.
Relationships: Edge (Underfell Papyrus)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25
Collections: It's Snowing Somewhere Else: An Undertale Themed Secret Santa 2020!





	I'm Nuts About You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DinobotKING117](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinobotKING117/gifts).



> Here's my gift for the Secret Santa Exchange- Hope you like it DinobotKING!
> 
> Prompt: "Surprise me with a soft and sweet story of baking at home together!"

There’s an expression you grew up with: “the more the merrier”, but really, you couldn’t think of any phrase more wrong in this moment. The snowfall is nice, but being in here with him, as relaxed as he could be for being the Captain of the Royal Guard, feels even better. It makes the task of baking a fruitcake heavier than your head palatable, for once.

Papyrus stares at the recipe book with the concentration of a bloodhound, dangerously armed with a butter knife in one hand and a measuring cup in the other. His skull reflects the muted rays of sunlight coming from the window, even though the clouds have saturated the sky in a deep grey. 

He turns his head to look at you. “WHAT DO YOU NEED?”

To anyone else it would seem like he was trying to brush you off, but that hint of softness in his voice— that scrap of playfulness— says otherwise.

You give him a sweet smile and kiss his sleeve. “Just waiting for orders, captain.”

He regards you with amusement (and a bit of affection), then gestures over to the containers of candied fruit.

“MINCE THOSE INTO FINE PIECES. A THIRD CUP OF EACH.”

A third cup from...seven containers of fruits and nuts? Good lord, all right. After giving him a mock salute, you slip one of the knives out from the block and set up the cutting board on the island. As you brush your hands against your apron, you look over the neatly stacked containers and opt to start on the cherries first.

_Chop chop chop…_

You’ll have to get to work on wrapping everyone’s presents. You think Sans will get a kick out of the hotdog wrapping paper you bought just for him. And for Frisk, extra zip ties since they blew through last year’s duct tape wrapping so easily. The kid is determined.

You finish chopping the cherries and move onto the walnuts.

_Chop chop chop…_

Maybe this year, (“it’s complicated”, not quite queen) Toriel will not scare the ever living daylights out of you by hurling fireballs at her ex during the party. It was a few years ago and she hadn't shown up to the last one, but Papyrus mentioned in an offhanded comment about filing her RSVP with the others. You'd have to start playing dodgeball again to keep up your skills of evasion. It was the only thing that saved you from a hefty burn last time.

If you remembered correctly, that was the night when Papyrus pulled you away from the party and told you he loved you. Well, the exact words were more like “YOUR BRUSH WITH DEATH HAS MADE ME REALIZE HOW MUCH I CHERISH YOU. ALSO, YOU ARE _VERY_ ATTRACTIVE WHEN YOU ARE EVADING FIREBALLS.” But you got the drift.

...

You set aside the freshly chopped walnuts for the dates.

 _Chop chop chop…_

You hope he likes the gift you got him this year. You noticed that his gloves were getting worn from the constant use, and though he replaces them with an identical pair when his current ones began to get holes, you can't help but think that it costs him a small fortune to replace them every time. It took you several months to save up, but you ordered a custom pair with durable leather and specialty steel-tipped fingers to keep his claws from poking through.

And if you heard Sans correctly— during the winding down of movie night last week, between hushed whispers in the hallway and your sleep-addled brain— Papyrus might have gotten you a collar...?

 _Chop chop chop…_

Before you know it, Papyrus wraps his arms around your waist and presses into your back with a gentle touch, where you can feel his ribs deflate with a contented, quiet sigh. You lean into him and make a pleased noise. Soft music plays over the radio as the two of you enjoy each other’s presence, and you thread the fingers of your free hand through his.

“Are you looking forward to the peace gala?” You hum quietly as he rests his clavicle on your shoulder. 

“No,” he mutters, “But The Day Is More Tolerable With You By My Side.”

Aww, did he really say that? Your heart is melting to putty. 

“You don’t like the holidays? You always do so well at...well," You gesture with your knife towards the lavishly decorated living room beyond the open doorway, " _everything_ during holiday gatherings.”

He makes a keening noise as he presses his teeth to your neck in a light kiss. “FLATTERY. I KNEW YOU WERE THE PERFECT MATE FOR A REASON.”

You chuckle, appreciating the vibrations of your voice against his contact, and you pull your hand away to cup the side of his skull.

“Only the best for the Royal Guard, you know,” you tease.

He hums in acknowledgement and releases you, only to sneak his hands under your sweater and over your hips, rubbing his thumbs in light circles against your skin.

You laugh quietly. “Why do you do this every time I hold a knife?”

He snorts but continues anyway, nuzzling against your neck for a short time before pulling back.

“IF IT WASN’T UNDER KING ASGORE’S DIRECT ORDERS, I WOULD HAVE PREFERRED TO SPEND IT IN PEACE, AT HOME,” he sighs, transferring the bowl of dough over to the island, “BEFORE THE ANNUAL HUMAN AND MONSTER PEACE GALA, OUR TOWN PARTICIPATED IN A TRADITION CALLED GYFTMAS. IT LOOKS MUCH LIKE YOUR HUMANS’ CHRISTMAS, BUT LESS WEAK.”

Only Papyrus would call the anxiety-ridden task of choosing personal, heartfelt gifts that won’t cost the equivalent of your kidney on the black market “weak.”

“And how, pray tell, is it any different?”

“YOU HAVE THE BASIC DECOR AND GIFT GIVING, BUT YOU HAVE NONE OF THE _SPIRIT,_ ” he continues. “NO GRAND ACTS OF TREACHERY! NO FLAMETHROWERS ATTACHED TO THE LIGHT POLES! WHERE IS THE PASSION? THE FINESSE!”

You _do_ recall him talking about the trap-laden caves of his hometown.

“Oh, so like a more dangerous version of Snowdin?” 

“I WOULD HARDLY CONSIDER COVERED PITFALLS DANGEROUS. PERSONALLY I FIND THEM TACKY. AT LEAST ADD SPIKES!”

You bite back your laughter. “ _Pit traps_? How _dare_ they try such a crude tactic! Where’s the _sophistication_?”

“MY POINT EXACTLY,” he gruffs in exasperation. “MOST OF THEM WEREN’T EVEN COVERED WITH THE PROPER CAMOUFLAGE. FRESH MAPLE LEAVES ARE _NOT_ SUITABLE FOR SNOWDIN’S TERRAIN. NOW THE _TILES OF DEATH_ , **THAT** IS A TRAP WORTH SETTING.”

You listen with rapt attention as he starts to explain the goal and the meanings of the different colored tiles. 

And he continues.

And continues.

You pick up the knife again and resume chopping, albeit a little quieter to _attempt_ to keep listening.

...he’s still going.

“...AND THAT IS WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER STEP ON A BLOOD RED TILE AFTER A CRIMSON TILE. BUT PINK IS FINE,” He finishes. 

“No wonder you prefer Death Tiles,” you say as you transfer the last of the chopped fruit into the bowl. “Confuse the player with long and complicated rules and let them fend for themselves. Plus they can’t fault you for not following the directions. It’s an ingenious mind game.”

“What Do You M— ...YES. YES! YOU UNDERSTAND,” He not-so-subtly saves himself. You’re not dating him for his humility, so you ignore the admission for his sake and turn to lean against his chest.

“I’d still try. You know how much I like a good puzzle,” you purr. “Though I’m still trying to solve how I got you.”

Papyrus growls playfully as you tug him down for a kiss, and his hands trail up and down your spine, sending pleasant tingles throughout your body.

“You Had Me At ‘Get your dog off my property’.”

As you start to fold in the chopped fruits and nuts, you chuckle at the memory of that annoying fluffy dog chewing on the straps of your bag and the dashing, if not abrasive skeleton chasing after him.

“Tell you what, sir. How about we finish up this fruitcake, and afterwards you can stuff your _fruit_ in _mine_?” 

“WE ARE ALREADY BAKING A TWELVE POUND FRUITCAKE, AND YOU WANT TO— _Nghh,_ I SEE,” He chokes a groan halfway though his sentence as you sneak your fingers past his clothes to trace the top of his hip bone. He presses you closer against him as you give a coy smile, and you take the opportunity to stare into his eyelights: a brilliant red, burning with magic and passion and power, but so, so soft.

“I love you,” you whisper to him, and his hand comes up to cup your cheek before he kisses you this time around. Your eyes flutter shut as he leans into it, and the pressure of his sharp teeth is firm, but oh so careful against your lips.

Eventually he parts from you, but just enough to whisper back, “I Will Never Let You Go.”

That was another code for “I love you, too”, and you know he only means it figuratively, because he definitely lets you go to work and to the store and out with your friends by yourself. You appreciate the sentiment either way.

With the fruitcake forgotten, you laugh gently as he sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the kitchen.


End file.
